What Once was Stolen
by L'Arc en Coeur
Summary: IvanXYao. Kiku sided with the Axis during World War II and, after dealing a critical blow to Yao, left the Chinese man to die. But, despite the turmoil, Yao might still find happiness with Ivan--that is, only if Ivan can overcome his remorse.


_**Author's Note:** Another FAIL at non-cliche writing. Well, I'm trying to get better at this. Please keep critique coming~ ;D Thanks~ (oh and just kidding, I won't be updating this, sorry...)  
_

"Kiku," His eyes watered as he reached his hand out to the other.

Kiku was averse to the gesture and took a step in the back as he reached for the hilt of his katana.

"Don't come any closer," He said with a monotone voice.

"Have I been that bad a brother?" The same soft and broken voice implored. "You were never one to like the simple things and I know it's my fault that I never gave you everything you deserved, but Kiku—all of this?"

Kiku swallowed, but a packet of air was lodged in his throat. His lower lip quivered, his eyes narrowed, and his brows tilted skyward.

"I'm sorry that I wasn't ever enough for you. Maybe…you will be better off with the Europeans," The brown eyes peered into Kiku's soul. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

The voice rang in Kiku's ears. Louder and louder they did grow; the calls of forgiveness urging him to some immediate action.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry…"

Kiku screamed, "Stop it! Stop it! Stop saying those horrid words! Enough! Enough of this!"

The man held his tongue and spared the Japanese man any more distress. He turned his eye and took a pace in the other direction. Kiku would no longer be plagued by his piercing gaze. The dark ponytail swayed hypnotically as the man's silhouette evanesced with the mist.

But, he stopped.

"You were never happy with the simple things and so, unhappy you shall remain."

Kiku stood dazed, but fury quickly swallowed his consciousness. That bastard dared to speak to him in that way?

He closed in.

And a scream raced across the skies as the sounds of metal crashing to earth echoed past the mountains. It was a scream of almost inhuman quality—one filled with anguish and pain and disgust.

And…

Yao cried as he tore himself from bed. His back suffered a searing pain and he gasped a little more helplessly then collapsed onto the mattress.

His breathing was heavy and his heart pounded almost audibly. Sweat beaded at his forehead and collected on his pillow. Tears pooled at his eyes and rolled gently down his smooth cheeks. His silenced sobs were all that comforted him.

Heavy footsteps hurried into the room.

"What's the matter?"

There was a man of domineering stature at the foot of Yao's bed. The smaller Chinese male tilted his head back defiantly, though his heart was filled with apprehension.

"Who are you?" He demanded authoritatively despite his obviously crippling situation.

"Me? I'm Ivan Braginsky."

"Ivan Brag_insky_? What a strange name for a man." Yao thought to himself, obviously unaccustomed to someone of such form.

"I-I heard you scream, so I came in as quickly as I could. But, you seem ok, what a relief. For a moment, I thought you wouldn't make it." A half-hearted smile graced his face.

Yao shifted underneath the covers attempting to sit himself upright, but his back was seething.

"N-no! Don't do that!" The large man bent over, his thick hands forced Yao back onto the mattress with such force that his back ached more than it had when he tried to lift himself.

Despite his girth and strength, the man had a gentle, effeminate sort of voice. No, not quite effeminate, Yao concluded, but there was definitely something in his tone that made him different from most other men. It was a lighter sort of tone—one that could almost be considered melodic if given the right sentences. His face was pale—icy, just like his cold violet eyes.

"You were bleeding so much when I found you. I was so worried that you wouldn't make it. You're not in any condition to exert yourself more than necessary, lest you prefer some crippling wounds. Just lie here and let me take care of you until assistance arrives."

The taller man turned toward the door, but Yao called to him before he could leave, "T-thank you!"

Ivan was caught off-guard, "Of course, I couldn't just leave you there."

"I didn't want you to feel as if I was an obligation. You didn't have to rescue me, but you did and for that I am indebted to you. Thank you."

His mouth twitched into what Yao thought was a smile, but it quickly vanished from his porcelain face, "Y-yes. 'Indebted', if there is no other word."

And without another word, he left the injured man's presence.

Spending most of his bedridden time pondering Ivan's face, Yao determined that he had seen it once before. But memory was not serving him well during his restoration. Everyday, when Ivan walked into the room with a candid smile, that same woolen coat, and a tray full of food from some foreign land, Yao would examine him (and question his clothing which bothered the Asian excessively) and cause the giant to blush then hurriedly escape his gaze. And so the Chinese man often ate alone. But his taste buds were not accustomed to such foreign food and he sometimes went without nourishment.

As Ivan brought in the afternoon's meal, Yao flicked his untied hair behind his shoulder and began conversing with the Russian.

"You see, Braginsky, for the longest time I felt as if I've met your face once before."

"Is that so, Yao?" Ivan had come to a point where he no longer called the smaller man 'Mr. Patient'.

"Yes, but I wasn't able to put my finger on where or when. Your face is so…unique, there's no way I would have forgotten."

Ivan's eyes shifted away and he offered nothing but a troubled smile, "I'm sure there are others in Russia who look somewhat like me."

"Oh, so it's _Russia_ that he's from." Yao registered.

The Russian's illegible face had betrayed him as his eyes filled with a sudden panic.

"Yes, it was you. You with that bastard Arthur when he took Hong Kong away form my people. Yes, you were on his side then. I knew I had seen you before. There were others with you, that American, too. In fact, the Axis and the Allies and the Austrian, all of them were there when Hong Kong was taken."

"How have you been feeling?" The Russian quickly interjected.

"Much better, I can move now. I'm sure I can leave this bed any day so you don't have to look after me anymore."

"N-no. I'm worried that if I leave, that Japanese man will come back and be sure to take your life."

"Japanese man? Kiku Honda, you mean? You saw it?"

"I saw everything, I saw him come at you with his blade. But despite even that, I wasn't able to come fast enough to stop him, I'm sorry. I feel terribly, but I'm doing all I can to make up for it."

Yao reached for the Russian's face and stroked his icy cheek, "It's fine. You've done more than enough for me. I should learn to take care of myself. I'm not so old that I should be seeking help from one so young."

Ivan's face reddened under the gentle touch of the Asian. He was shockingly pretty with a young, slim face and vibrant eyes. One could not guess he was a day older than twenty-four.

Yao was released from his bedroom three days later. He walked with a crutch though, to help support himself; his back still burned furiously, but despite Ivan's pleas he demanded that he be free. Ivan, fervently worried about Yao, refused to part with the Asian and continued to nurse him back to health while leaving war provisions consisting mostly of guns. Yao was not a natural talent with the weapons, but under Ivan's instruction he was no more apt to defend himself than the Russian.

And soon, Yao no longer needed the support of the crutch and he spent much of his leisure time with the Russian who seemed to refuse to leave his presence. It was not unwelcome; the Chinese man was tired of living alone. But, the visits soon grew less frequent and Yao knew that Ivan was becoming more and more preoccupied with war. The time that was once spent with Ivan was now solitary time and it was at those times that Yao knew how much he loved his Russian.

Ivan appeared at Yao's front door one sunny day. He still donned the thick coat and, with the unrelenting sun, it pestered Yao. But, the Chinese man let him inside without a word of criticism and they resigned themselves to the couch on which they lay sprawled. Ivan's thighs made a soft cushion for Yao's head and after a few minutes of casual compliments and teasing, they started to talk seriously.

"I felt that I needed some time off from battle," He offered another candid smile.

His face had gotten a little warmer, Yao noted, since he first he had laid eyes on the Russian. His cheeks were much pinker and his skin was a healthy peach kissed by the sun's rays rather than the icy white that they once were.

"You're always welcome here."

Words were not necessary anymore. The two basked in the pleasure of each other's company. Ivan gently stroked Yao's hair and Yao held one of Ivan's hands at his breast.

The Asian looked up, but did not meet the Russian's glance. Ivan was staring out the window, his mind elsewhere. And Yao knew something was bothering him.

"What's the matter?"

Ivan was caught off-guard and he stuttered, but recomposed himself, "The war, my dear."

"I know it's hard for you." Yao replied with great empathy—almost maternally.

"I never wanted you so involved in our fight. This _used_ to be European conflict, but once again the world falls into our grand scheme. If Ludwig hadn't gone to Kiku, then you wouldn't have been forced to fight. I'm tired of you getting so hurt…of hurting…of everything."

Yao knew there was more to his speech and he waited anxiously.

"But, I need you now more than ever. We're almost done with this war, I can feel it, but I can't do this without your support. Just a little longer…please? A little longer and then I'll make sure no other European will mess with you."

"But, if that is your master plan, then when will I ever see you again?"

The Russian refused to let another word slip past his firm lips. His eyebrows furrowed and he turned away from Yao's touch. The Chinese man, taken aback by Ivan's sudden reclusions redoubled his efforts to win his gaze, but every attempted caress and sugared smile failed.

The unsuspecting Asian could not have guessed that the Russian's previous advance in China was haunting his conscious.

He rolled onto his stomach with some pain from his still healing wound, "Tell me, Ivan, what's bothering you?"

Ivan refused to acknowledge the man's pleas, but continued to stare off into the distance.

"Ivan, I would do everything for you regardless of your request. If you wanted the moon, I would fetch you all of Jupiter's. If you wanted the world, I would say 'Which one?'. I'd do anything for you,"

Braginsky reached for Yao's hand, "I don't deserve your generosity."

And then, Yao knew that Hong Kong was bothering him, "N-no, what's done is done. Nothing can change that fact. But right now, the world faces a serious malevolence and, despite past disputes, we must all choose which side of fate we will follow. I have already chosen mine," He reached for Ivan's pale blond hair and stroked it lovingly.

And Ivan moved for Yao's thigh and wrapped his large arm around it, drawing it closer to his body while Yao simultaneously grabbed a hold of Ivan's jacket and pulled himself upright; their faces in such close proximity that their now shallow breaths caressed each other's faces.

"I need you," said the Russian.

"And I'll be there for you," replied the Asian.

Both their voices were soft and broken by their passionate breaths.

The Russian's fingers traced a path up Yao's leg and the smaller man's breath grew quicker and more laborious. Sensing his desire, Ivan obliged and pressed his lips against Yao's and the Chinese man returned the favor as he wrapped his delicate arms around the Russian's neck and drew him closer while keeping slightly parted lips for his convenience.

With the welcome, Ivan's tongue slipped past Yao's lips, brushed by his teeth, and then intertwined with Yao's tongue. The two fought each other's passion within the confines of the uncomfortably small battlefield. They had both wanted to expand their range. Taking the initiative, Yao slid one hand down Ivan's jacket and unbuttoned the first clasp of the heavy wool mass.

The Russian was _always_ wearing that heavy jacket and Yao was curious, but Ivan had different intentions. His heart jumped as he felt his coat loosen, but he thought it only a fluke and he reached down to button it back up. But he was preoccupied with the Asian.

Slowly exiting the smaller man's mouth, the Russian slightly lifted Yao's chin and revealed a path to the delicate neck. With a little moan, the Asian relinquished most of the power he held over the situation and allowed the invasion.

Ivan closed in and placed his chilling lips on Yao's neck, lightly kissing—savoring—everything within reach. The cold was invigorating. As each attack made contact, Yao's senses became more alert and his passion for Ivan's body heightened. But Yao's grace betrayed his true feelings and Ivan was given no further hints to the extent of the man's lust.

With a fluid motion, the order was reversed and Yao was pressed between Ivan's heaving chest and the soft cushions of the sofa. Ivan continued to move across Yao's body unaware of the thoughts that raced through the Asian's mind; he was determined to remove that nuisance Ivan called clothing. Yao's fingers were busy once more, removing the other claps with great fervor. Ivan realized what was occurring. He lifted himself off the Asian, but the latter followed intently; his fingers never left the buttons.

Ivan's forearm came down against the Asian's side with considerable force and Yao was moved from the seat to his feet.

He shot an amused smile in Ivan's direction; the other's countenance was not as inviting.

"What? I thought you were enjoying that," Yao gave a somewhat irritated laugh.

"There's one thing in the world I detest, and that's being naked," he replied with little amusement.

"Then, what did you expect? I'd bare myself to you fully and not expect the same from you? What kind of double standard is that?"

The Russian rose quickly and met the Asian's rebelliousness with force. Yao was pushed against a wall and held in place by the rough hand at his throat. The man's knee made its way between the smaller one's thighs—Ivan must have derived some sadistic pleasure from his partner's discomfort.

"I don't like it when other's go against me, did you hear me? I said I don't want it, that's enough."

The taller man released his grip and moved away and the Asian slid to the floor as he gave a frustrated sigh between the violent coughs.

"You'll have to leave," grabbing at his throat he replied.

Ivan's demeanor changed immediately; he returned to the smaller man almost ready to bow for forgiveness. It was as if he had just realized what he had done--as if there were _two_ parts to Ivan.

"_Leave_ me!" he screamed with agony before pushing the Russian away. "Don't expect me to sit here and be taken advantage of again! You Europeans want the world! You have taken anything that was important to me, so leave me before I lose it all! I thought you had changed! That you'd want to give as much as you take," his voice heightened, "but you're just like the others! _Just like them_! I was wrong to have let you so close to my heart! How dare you!"

And, without another word spoken on either part, the Russian left with tears at the corners of despondent eyes. And the Asian, heart broken, resigned himself to his room where he wept for the wounded heart that had just learned to beat...


End file.
